


Parallel

by Experiment413



Series: Mianite: Awakening Lore [13]
Category: Mianite - Fandom, Minecraft - Fandom
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fanmade Mianite S3, Gen, Mianite Awakening - Freeform, POV Third Person, Pre-Inertia Prison, Realm of Mianite, Song Lyrics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-17
Updated: 2018-03-13
Packaged: 2019-01-18 18:47:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 1,445
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12393996
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Experiment413/pseuds/Experiment413
Summary: Alternate Ianite writes of the connections between a time forgotten and a time of awakening.





	1. Bremen

[You know this handwriting. It’s AltIanite’s!]

 

But how long did we think, we could walk, we could sing, until our voices gave out, and our limbs gave in?

 

The boy told his sister to speak her mind, and speak her mind she did. No matter the age of Princess Alva, she shot her speech like an arrow through a man’s chest. Andor sang, for the most part, the meaning of his words only lost to the adults who didn’t listen to children, who claimed adults had more to teach youth than youth had to teach adults.

Nevertheless, Alva and Andor continued their musings, even at a young age. Their mother taught them, they spoke with the voices she gave them.

 

Andor read his sister storybooks between his humming, and fables only increased their knowledge, their muse.

It fell with Alva’s lows, the little girl influencing her brother with every shudder.

Andor stopped singing when Alva died.

 

He regained his voice over time, rejuvenated by rebellion in the city and the smell of burnt apples and smoke in the air. 

 

His voice rose above the air for the first time in years since he lost his sister, his powers revealing, an acolyte awakened. And he fell as his sister did, the gust dying out and a rapier through his ribs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song quoted is Bremen by PigPen Theatre Co.


	2. Willow Tree March

You fall through the trees, and you pray with your knees on the ground, for the things that you need, with your lust and your greed weighing down.

 

Queen Freya often told her children the story of Ianite in Urulu. She was a heavenly, yet clumsy and stubborn thing, made of wanderlust and youth. As much as she loved to have lived about Dagrun, Ianite began to avoid it after some time, taking to the desert in hope of enlightenment. It was an over-romanticized tale, lacking the blood and most of the suffering Ianite endured.

 

Andor would come to know this suffering as he, too, took to the desert. He set himself on a dangerous path after Dagrun, one of recklessness and searching and questions. He could not keep still.

“There was another who spoke like you. The goddess Ianite. Do you know her?”

He had forgotten the story of his grandmother in this very city. He had looked up, blinked, taken the book from the monk and reread, in its original form, Ianite’s journey in Urulu. Hers ended not as cruelly as his would.

 

He scorned the tree of Katsir just as his grandmother had, tired and sick of searching for answers, though it was all he could do.

The monk reminded him of his purpose.

 

And we all still die. What will you leave behind?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song quoted is Willow Tree March by The Paper Kites.


	3. Happy Days

Don’tcha wish that things could go exactly how you want it, I’d be exactly how you want me. Selfishness is a dirty little sinner, but, for you, it’s my priority.

 

Prince Andor was more sly in his youth, mind mixed with backstab and silence. He worked with whatever handhold he saw right in front of his face, missing too many opportunities but nonetheless climbing his respective lattice. He almost slid to a stop, distracted half the time by keeping an eye on Jericho, unsure if he could trust the man when he was in town.

 

Regardless, he found ways to get the best of his father, sneaking things through the cracks of rules and unforgiving laws that pressured Ianitees and even once Ianite herself out of Dagrun. While an organizer, Andor himself was no figurehead for the Ianitees at the time. Not until later, and it’d be all too short lived.

He challenged his father with words and with silence, with opposition in argument disguised as “what if”s and “think of the people who can’t”s. He’d found the gate shutting and stuck his blade in it before it fully closed, taking advantage while he could.

 

Y’know, things could go exactly how you want it, I’d be exactly how you want me. Use what’s left of my soiled personality. I’m all yours and I’ll do anything.

 

History repeated itself when Andor’s rage dulled temporarily, turning into a half-fear as the boy had hidden amongst the netherrack with his hair barely visible, hidden by brick thorns. No matter his scurry, Andor couldn’t hide from the World Historian, no way to escape lest he get spotted by someone else. While the Heroes were less a concern than Botan, it was the noise that scared Andor off from the center platform and the space above it.

 

Andor pulled his cards as best he could, snapping at Botan as he attempted to back out, the Historian only growing more curious of the boy. Andor took up his rage from Katsir and used it to the best of his ability, though blind in his action, forgetting Helgrind for a second and becoming what he’d wished he’d done.

Botan manipulated this rage, though for mere minutes that felt like hours. He pulled on every string Andor had managed to retie, snapping him again and plaguing him even in the smallest of ways for the rest of his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song quoted is Happy Days by GHOST.


	4. Ghost

Tired of giving up the ghost. Fuck, it’s you I hate the most. Maybe there’s no guarantee, it doesn’t matter.

 

Andor despised Helgrind, every fiber of his being spent in a constant battle of what he’d done to him against a boy trying to piece things together again. Andor was shattered from a young age.

 

Even in the many years he spent in silence, hiding behind the river as Callisto, he hated Helgrind, but in a more silent, peaceful way.

He took to books, hiding away in his chambers, and wandering about Dagrun for his expression of this. He was a strange, silent boy, looking for big meaning within little things.

 

Even then, he got sick of bottling it all up. A book can only contain so much.

Brainwashed and filled with static, Andor lacked knowledge he never knew he had. What started as a buzzing in his brain became words out of other’s mouths and the scratches on the page became legible words.

 

Over time, he grew from nothing to something, all by staring at those pages, all by listening to the static.

And his dreams of rebellion came back from the static. He was angry for some reason, he knew it was because Helgrind hated Ianite, but what was the real reason, other than the flux?

The static took time to clear.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Song quoted is Ghost by Mystery Skulls.


	5. Light House

There is a girl who haunts that lighthouse. She saved me, I was swimming, so young I almost drowned. Under the water she sang a story of losing her lover. She calls a warning.

 

Ianite was always there. In the depths of his mind, she peeked around corners just as he did in the city streets. Andor found his hideout of the lighthouse.

 

She talked when she could to him, and when he was in silent it was them conversing to each other. Reaching out was a slow process, the static of the silence was too strong for Ianite to even punch through. But with gentle words, a goddess’s hand reached through the headache to find him, and soon with it a world of no truths hidden.

 

Reaching a point of pure partnership, Ianite showed Andor the world he couldn’t see for years, and an awakening began. With Helgrind’s torture reversed, Andor was an unstoppable force powered by stories and a knowledge of the world- a true demigod with no true weapon.

 

Love, you are foolish, you’re tired. Your sleeplessness makes you a liar. The city is burning, the ocean is turning, our only chance is the lighthouse.


	6. Borderline

Voice of the empire. They set head fire. Pull the plug sire, I’ll spit fire.

 

Raise a man up and he’ll never want to come down. Andor’s joy was in words, and the power that came with words gave him a sense of the things he’d lost.

It was truly a shame, to be low for so long.

 

Rebellion burned bright in Andor’s heart, his smile began to widen and get less soft, his eyes less focused on the floor.

With rebellion came power and an energy that was wicked and new to Andor. A piece of his goddess gifted to him, and he began to harness the energy. A new wind blew about.

 

With the abilities he had of wind and speech, he made the rebellion blossom.

 

They’d sort me out if my head gets clear.

I live my life in shackles but I’m borderline free. I used to be blind but I still can’t see. And I won’t get ‘round to a change of mind, as long as nobody breaks my stride.


End file.
